Have you entered the Banner Ad contest? Have you? Because all the cool people are doing it. And you’re cool. Right? So make me a banner ad and then send it to me before Saturday and I’ll put it on my page. Come on. You know you want to.
Sometimes I have nothing to say, and yet this entire irrepressible urge to say it anyway.
Today, I did fuckall at lunch. I drove around and listened to one of my mix CDs from summer, that one titled “Grrl on Girl Action”. Every song on it features women singers. Everything from Pink to Fisher to Salt N’Pepa to Fiona Apple to En Vogue to Veronica Martell to Vanessa Carlton to The Beautiful South to the Indigo Girls. It’s a very strange CD and yet somehow extremely comprehensive and put together in its eccentricity. I contemplated the little spots of amber and gold in the trees to where my low rider boot cut jeans are to whether or not I should stop at Starbucks and get some mocha. I haven’t had caffeine in I-don’t-even-know-how-many days and don’t really want to get back on that caffeine trip. I know that my Diet Coke addiction somehow hampers Operation Hottie. I don’t know how, but I know that it does. Perhaps it has something to do with sodium or metabolism or how Nutrasweet makes you crave sugar. I dunno. I do know that once I get it out of my system, I do much better and am not as hungry all the time. That having been said, I’ve been sleeping something like twelve hours a day, which can’t be all that good either.
Today, I was talking with Chauffi and he mentioned that he was dressed in red and green and looked like a Christmas elf, which prompted me to give him an elf name. Jingle Merryfeet. I just adore that. Jingle Merryfeet. The elf does not need a prop because his name is Jingle Merryfeet. He then donned me Tinsel Snowbottom, even though I am in elf-cognito, wearing navy sport pants, a white t-shirt and New Balance running shoes. Not that I run anywhere ever. Maybe if I have been on a long conference call, drinking water, and am afraid I won’t make it to the john. Maybe I’m on the Elf Intramurals, training for the Candy Cane Relay and the Chimney Sprint. Nothing like a little chubby sex elf. Gah. That didn’t sound right at all. Like some elf porn. Oddly enough, I think someone sent me a link once to Elvish porn. That must be big with the guys who’ve gone through three copies of Lord of the Rings and think Piers Anthony is quite possibly the Messiah.
Esteban will be hopefully flying home from NYC tonight, provided that he can successfully make it through O’Hare. He’s not feeling optimistic. He comes home complete with $250 in travel vouchers from the botched first leg of his trip, so he’s in fairly good spirits. So am I because this means that I will be diligently saving toward going someplace warm this winter. I haven’t decided where, but I do know this: it will be somewhere tropical with places for me to snorkel. Hopefully without jellyfish although I likely won’t be that lucky. Perhaps someplace where they worship curvy round kind of girls. Unlike someplace like Florida, where jutting bones and angular asses are all the rage. Nothing against Florida, mind you, but I’m pretty sure that asses shouldn’t have corners. That’s all I’m saying.
Proof that I am exactly 8 years old sometimes: today we got notification that a sausage company’s line had gone down. So we received this entire series of emails with the theme “X Sausage has gone down. We will notify you when it is back up.” “X Sausage is up again.” And I laughed, thinking of the technicians who had to say “Oh no! What are we going to do to get the X Sausage up! Get your best men on that!”. It was a turgid sausage problem of epic proportions.
I have no right in society to call myself an adult.
Tell me your elf name in the comments section.
